stay upon your shoreland
by quietest
Summary: In which a selkie finds herself stranded on a Neverland beach and doesn't quite manage to leave. Slight Pan/OC. (Series of interconnected one-shots.)


notes: chapters = one-shots, in case my inspiration dies.  
1-15-14: minor edits.

"Mermaid—"

"Selkie, if you don't mind," she corrects, running hands down her legs searching for anything that might have gone wrong in the change. Her seal-coat is saturated with water, and water runs in thick rivulets down the sides of the rock it sits on.

"Selkie," the boy says, "of course. And what would one of the seal-people want with this humble island?"

"To trade," she says, reaching for the beaded pouch at her waist. "I have information about other worlds, or I have riches." She lays out a waterlogged piece of paper, a stack of gold coin, and an oilskin packet of seeds, as an example of what she could offer. "I will trade you one for the other."

"And if I care for neither?" the boy asks.

"Then you can pay me to leave," she replies, for this boy carries the air of a king about him, "before I can take the riches or knowledge of this island to be sold to others."

Something crosses his face for a split second, and as he's saying, "I have a better idea," and boys begin appearing from the woods, her hand is falling to her seal-coat and emerging with a bow.

The first to step forward is a real brute of a boy, tall and broad and a heavy club propped against his shoulder. Golden curls peek from beneath his hood. He gives her a lazy smile as he walks up, and then his club is coming for her head like lightning and she's dodging it and _scales_, she should have taken her chances and tried to jump back into her other skin. His second swing forces her away from the rock her seal-coat is laying on, and his third force her into the water. As his arm pulls back for the fourth, she darts forward, hoping to make it past him, but something collides with her head and she falls.

"I'll leave you your 'riches'," she hears from far away, "but I think I'll take this, instead."

When she finally rouses, she is alone. Her seal-coat is gone. She is trapped on this island until she can get it back.

* * *

She sits on the beach for a long time, just staring out at the water. She'd expected to be long gone by now, maybe headed back to see her dam and sire. She'd only stopped in this damned place out of curiosity.

That went well, she thinks, burying her head in her arms. She should have—she keeps forgetting she's not as dangerous in her human skin, and on land. It's been so long. She is slow and clumsy, and her teeth are flat and blunt. She's not a predator anymore, she realizes. She can't make prey hers with claws and teeth, she'll have to, to scavenge. She hasn't had to scavenge for, scales, for such a long time. She's done it on inland trips before, when she's been exploring land and didn't wish to return to the water immediately, but she prefers the neatness of the kill now.

At some point she'll have to wander inland. But for the moment, there is kelp floating near the beach, and she can see fish, and that's enough to get by.

* * *

(she's as graceful in her human skin as her seal skin, in the water. the fish don't stand a chance, even with her silly human teeth.)

* * *

Two days she stays like that, gathering her thoughts and eating when she feels hungry. When she took off her seal-coat, she was left wearing the brown linen shift she'd donned during her last trip ashore. It gets in the way in the water, though, so she pulls it off and leaves it draped over a rock when she swims. There is a niggling thought in the back of her mind, that she's leaving herself bare on an island full of, from what she's seen, teenage boys, so she carries her whalebone knife on her belt. Their looking hurts her not at all. She would have kept the beaded belt with its pouches on her person anyway. She hasn't let it out of her sight in years.

* * *

On the third day, she feels strong enough to venture inland. She knows from experience that the forest is going to be hell with her in her simple shift and no shoes, but she cannot stay on the beach forever.

The forest stretches in front of her like an impenetrable wall of green. She knows it is not so, but it is a very convincing illusion. She takes one step, and then another, and then another, and soon she is surrounded by green. Sunlight filters down from above, but there is a rainstorm coming. She can feel the heaviness in the air, on her skin. The leaf litter is gentle on her feet.

If she had come inland to search for food or raw materials she could have turned back almost immediately. The forest is rich in resources. But she came for information, and that is not so easily found.

She walks for what feels like hours, following the natural trails of the forest. Eventually the trees come to an end, and she finds herself on a beach. Alright then, she thinks, recognizing it as the beach she left when the sun was high in the sky. If that's the way it's going to be. And she sets about building herself a small shelter against the treeline, so that she can weather this storm and try again tomorrow.

* * *

The next day she is more careful. She leaves marks behind her as she walks, notches in trees marking where she has already been, in the hope that she will notice if someone turns her around again. She walks for hours again that day. Occasionally she comes across one of her marks, and adjusts her course accordingly. She sees not one other person, but does catch the occasional waving leaf, and knows she is being followed.

The sun has fallen nearly to the horizon when she exits the forest, again where she had entered.

That night she moves her makeshift shelter closer to the water. She wants to hear the sound of the waves as she falls asleep.

* * *

"What are you even looking for?" the boy asks her on the third day. She has been amongst the green for perhaps an hour, and has crossed yesterday's trail three times already. His voice is full of scorn, but she cares not. He is wearing something he was not the first time she saw him: a simple leather thong tied thrice around his wrist, with a small wooden seal hanging from it.

"You," she says, not one to mince words. Having found a possible avenue to seeing her seal-coat returned, she takes the excuse to rest for a moment.

"Then congratulations," he says, spreading his arms wide. "Here I am. Now what will you do?"

"I'd like my seal-coat back, please," she informs him.

He laughs, eyebrow jumping as he says, "That's so, is it? Quite polite for one of the seal-folk, aren't you?"

"Thank you," she says, and stares at him expectantly.

He stares back, eyebrow twitching upward again. "What?" he laughs. "You really expect me to just give it back? That's no fun. No, I've got a better idea."

Wary, she stands and starts taking careful steps away from him, but he pushes into her personal space, grabbing a lock of her hair and twisting it between his fingers. She can feel the warmth of him, he's so close. The hand not holding her hair reaches into the front of his shirt, pulling out a small stone, river-smooth and downy grey. "Once you figure out what you're really looking for," he says, staring directly into her eyes, "come find me. This will help you with that."

She accepts it, trying not to breathe in the smell of him, feel the heat of him, and breathes a small sigh of relief when he steps back.

He disappears into the forest, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

* * *

She is not a sentimental person. She does not love easily, and so moving on is something that has always come easily to her. There are times, though, that she misses her late husband terribly, if only for his ability to take her thoughts and make them into something eloquent. He could sway anyone to his way of thinking, her Sammael, given enough time and incentive, and she finds herself wishing for his gift with words. This boy is a word-smith, she can feel it, and while she is practiced at seeing through such games she is less accustomed to playing them.

She will have to learn, she thinks, watching the moonlight spinning and reflecting off the incoming tide and letting it lull her to sleep.

* * *

What I'm really looking for, she thinks, staring out at the waves. She hasn't yet entered the forest today, and doesn't intend to. The stone is in her fist, and her thumb is rubbing gentle circles into it.

My seal-coat, she thinks, obviously, and looks to the stone. It remains inert.

Okay. Then maybe I'm looking for the boy who has it, but that's not right, is it? I had him yesterday, and what did I do? Nothing. Okay.

I'm—not looking for a way off this island, she thinks, but... but what if the devil isn't asking, what am I looking for since I came here? What if he's asking... Something twists in her gut, and as the stone warms in her hand she thinks, where no one can hear, shit.

* * *

"So," he says archly. "Done some thinking, have we?"

"Yes," she says. Obviously. She'd waited til the next day to hunt the boy down, because it took that long for the rope behind her navel to stop twisting itself into knots. The stone had led her, stumblingly, through the forest, growing warmer when she was going the right direction and cooler when she was not, and when she'd been close enough to see the camp it'd grown so blisteringly hot she'd finally dropped it.

She'd peered cautiously through the ferns blocking her view of the camp—she could hear hooting and whistling, she was definitely in the right place—and had jerked back when she found the boy staring straight at her. Seated next to him was a hooded giant of a boy; when the boy said, "Felix," and jerked his head, the giant slowly stood, propping a great club against his shoulder—that's when she recognized him as the boy she'd fought on the beach—and said, "Alright, losers, Pan's gotta talk to the lady. Get lost." He was the last to leave, sharing a speaking glance with Pan as he went.

Pan hadn't so much moved as appeared next to her, and here they are.

"Come on," he says. "It's not a game if you're not willing to communicate with the other player."

Quietly, she says, "I'm looking for a purpose." Maybe that will be enough.

It's not. "Really?" he says, mockingly surprised. "That's surprising, considering that's not how you felt yesterday."

She winces. Seal-coat, she reminds herself. "I'm—waiting for a purpose to happen to me," she admits, feeling exposed in a more intimate way than she had when she'd the ability to step into her other skin. "I don't really care enough to do more than that."

"About anything, I'd say," he says, stalking closer to her. "Poor little selkie, following her old patterns 'cause she doesn't know what to do now that husband's gone. How long have you been alone?" he asks, pacing around her as she ducks her head. "How long doing the same thing you'd always done, because you didn't know what else to do? How long wishing someone would come in and make you do something different?"

"Please stop," she says. Too long, she thinks.

"Well, guess what, selkie," he says, bracing his arms to either side of her head and leaning in so that his breath ghosts across her cheek. "I'm here to grant your wish." And he kisses her.

She doesn't push him away.

When he pulls back, he takes all of the air with him, leaving her breathless. His face might be the most arrogant thing she's ever seen, she thinks. She watches him go in appreciative silence, and only then realizes that there is something around her wrist that was not there before.

It's the piece of leather from his own wrist, with its tiny seal charm. Her heart lifts and falls in one motion, and she thinks damn him.

The walk back to the beach seems much longer on the return trip.

* * *

She doesn't leave immediately, takes her time breaking down her pitiful shelter and making sure everything she brought with her is still on her, rebraiding her hair, scrubbing stains from her shift, and so forth.

Once she's dithered for as long as she can, she finally pulls the charm from its strand of leather. It sits inert in her hand, and for a moment a stone forms in her gut before she thinks, wait, and waves her hand over it like she has seen the boy do. Violet smoke erupts from the trinket, and when it passes she is holding her seal-coat. She nearly cries from relief, and steps into it.

She leaves Neverland behind her.

* * *

She goes and visits her family, or what is left of it: Sammael's dam and sire are happy to see her, as always, and tell her she has a place with them should she wish it, as they always do, and she declines, as she always does. She visits her own home, which she sees less than Sammael's parents', and she goes on a walking tour of one of the worlds without magic. Her seal-coat now returns to its shape as a bracelet as soon as she steps out of it, and she worries far less about traveling far from shore now that there is no danger of someone happening upon while she is away.

She does all this, but nothing truly interests her. Everything is as dull as it has always been.

Cursing herself for a fool, she returns to Neverland.

The boy is waiting for her on the shore when she steps out of the waves. His entourage of true children is likely hiding nearby, but she cares not.

"What is your name?" she says in lieu of a greeting.

His grin spreads across his face like victory. "Peter," he says. "Peter Pan."

* * *

a/n: title is from Heather Dale's "The Maiden and the Selkie", which is lovely and I highly recommend.

wow, hello world. it's been years since I've posted (read: actually finished) anything, but this hiatus is killing me. please let me know what you think! I don't bite, I swear.


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